That one time a guy wrote me a love poem… it was even on paper like in the olden days!

Here’s another time I experienced chivalry. Well, maybe, I am pretty sure this chivalry was in the service of getting in my pants. Allow me to explain.

Probably a few months after the previous story (so, circa 2008) about Tastykake guy giving me delicious packaged snack cakes and me not even calling him in return, I had another old-timey romantical experience. Kind of.

I don’t even remember how I met this guy, but I know it was through this dude who used to date my friend. They were roommates. Let’s say I met him at a party, because those dudes had a lot of parties back in the day. Many of them involved live music, because these dudes were in a band. Or bands. You know, those ones that are in a lot of bands and know all the other dudes in bands… Like that.

So I go on a few dates with this guy, who I will just go ahead and start calling love poem guy. We have fun, chat about whatever, hang out, etc. He’s a really good dresser, and is attractive and super smooth in general. He knows about cool things that I haven’t been to in Denver, such as the Mayan Theater, where you can drink beer AND watch a movie. I was very impressed at the time, but it doesn’t take much to impress young babies who just learned how to drink legally in bars. I discover at some point that the reason he is so cool and smooth and in so many bands is because he is 37 years old! Which seems pretty old to me when I’m 23. So I continue hanging out with him, but feel a little weird about it because he was starting high school when I was born. Want to feel creeped out about the age difference in your relationship? Just figure out how old the person was when you were born (or vice versa). If they/you were older than 10, you will both probably feel disturbed by that forever.

So after we’ve hung out maybe 4 or 5 times, love poem guy comes by my job at the ice cream store. See previous post about working in an ice cream store and living in a basement apartment if you need more details to set the scene. He comes by to say hi, we chat a little bit, and he gives me this envelope and tells me to open it later. Very mysterious.

So, pretty much immediately after he leaves, I open the envelope to find a card with a love poem on it and a drawing of a flower. Whoa! I recall that it was a pretty decent love poem, as love poems go. What the fuck am I talking about, I have no basis for comparison!?! It is the only love poem I have ever received, so I guess I can’t say if it was good or not. I have definitely received way more dick pics than poems (as has almost every woman in the world… up your game, fellas!). Anyway, I wish I had kept the poem because that would be AWESOME to post on this blog right now. But alas, it probably never made it out of that basement apartment because one time it flooded and ruined a bunch of my stuff. I don’t know specifically what happened to the poem but I sure don’t have it now.

So that was pretty impressive, the whole thing. I feel very excited, so I tell my friend who is dating love poem guy’s roommate/bro friend about this. Until now, she has not been very aware that I was hanging out with love poem guy. She tells me I should watch out about sleeping with him because he is a notorious man-whore and probably has STDs. She would know, she sees all these women in and out of the bro house this dude shares with her boyfriend. Yikes, 37 years worth of other ladies that he has been writing love poems to and banging… That seemed like a little much for my young, slightly prudish self. Yes, I used to be much less scandalous and would take much longer to sleep with people.

So I never actually slept with love poem guy. I hung out with him a few more times but I think he lost interest because his love poem did not make my panties immediately drop. But I have to give him points for going old-fashioned with it. Because even chivalry in the name of booty is still chivalry.


Maybe there was chivalry once…

I feel sometimes like my blog is me bitching about how dumb your average bro is these days. In my list (yes, I had to write a list to remember all these things, as previously mentioned, judge me if you want) of stories I should remember to write about in my blog, there are actually a couple that are sort of sweet. Most of them, sadly, happened at least 6 years ago, but hey, they happened!

So, when I first moved to Denver, in addition to having a sort-of-real job to get experience as a social worker, I also worked at a classic Denver ice cream institution. And no, it wasn’t Sweet Action, there weren’t enough hipsters for that shit to exist when I first moved to Denver! So you basically have two remaining choices to guess at, and again, I am trying to protect the innocent here so I won’t tell you! Both of the most romantic things that have potentially ever happened to me happened in said ice cream store. Probably in the winter, because there were too many angry ice-cream-hungry people for me to do anything but scoop ice cream whenever it was even slightly warm. You would think people would feel happy whilst waiting for delicious ice cream, but I think they just get impatient and it all goes downhill from there. Also, there was no air conditioning in this ice cream store in those days, which also makes people angry. Jeez, I sound like an old woman! But I digress.

So, the first story is this. I met a guy through my old roommate, he went to her church, which was actually probably the coolest church ever. Have you heard of Unitarian Universalists, readers? If I was going to get into religion, I would probably get into that! The reason I even met this dude is because my friend invited me to her church service because it was a demonstration on the Capitol steps supporting marriage equality! Best church service ever! And these people were seriously ahead of the curve in terms of social justice issues, because this took place in 2008 or so… So anyway, as far as I can tell, Unitarian Universalists draw from all different religious philosophies, but mostly focus on the good things that are supposed to be important in religion, like love, and human rights. So I am down with that, because those are pretty much two of my favorite things. Anyway, after the awesome church gathering down at the Capitol, they had snacks (another one of my favorite things!) and my roommate and I sat there and shot the shit with some people around our age. Among them, this guy, who I will call Tastykake guy for reasons that will be explained shortly.

So I’m chatting with this guy, who seems really nice, but definitely has a ponytail, which is not one of my favorite things. He tells me he’s from New Jersey, which, although generally a characteristic that East Coast people make fun of each other for, is sort of a commonality for us transplants out in the Mile High. People sometimes think I’m from Jersey, anyway. Around that time, I remember being told that I seemed like I was from New Jersey because I was loud and said “word” a lot. If being loud and saying “word” means you’re from Jersey, then I don’t want to be right! I still say “word.” I said it to one of the high school students I work with the other day and he looked at me funny. And I felt old. Ok, the point here is we get onto the whole thing that he’s from Jersey and I’m from Maryland and the things we miss from the East Coast. Among them, Tastykakes. What are Tatsykakes, you say? Delicious snack cakes, made by a Pennsylvania-based company, similar to Hostess or some other thing like that but with way better products, such as Kandy Kakes and Butterscotch Krimpets, or the best ones, Jelly Krimpets. You can google them, I am too lazy to find a good link. Now, again, this story is old because around this time last year I discovered that Tastykakes have become available at your neighborhood King Soopers. M’erica! But at the time, there were no Tastykakes available West of the Mississippi. Tastykake guy tells me that his mom knows how much he loves Tastykakes and sends them to him in care packages every few months. His mom is brilliant, I don’t know what the hell my mom was doing with her time back then, but it wasn’t sending me Tastykakes! Oh yeah, it was working. She was working to help pay for my sister’s college education. That bitch!

All right, I really need to get it together with these tangents. Ok, so Tastykake guy tells me he will share some Tastykakes with me sometime and I’m like ok, I will probably never see you again, but sure, bro. I am apparently not necessarily picking up what’s he’s putting down because I don’t seem to gather that he’s hitting on me. At any rate, my roommate and I head out back to our lovely basement home (that was back when I pretty much exclusively lived in basements due to being broke) and I don’t think much more of it. But apparently I, or someone, had mentioned to Tastykake guy that I worked at the previously-mentioned anonymous ice cream store.

One or two days later, he shows up at my work with a freakin box of Jelly Krimpets! We chat a little bit and I repeatedly ask him if he’s ok with giving me all these Krimpets, because to me (and probably him) those are like the equivalent of valuable swiss chocolates, or diamonds or something… He says, here’s my card, it’s taped on the box, call me sometime if you want. Potentially the best game a person has ever spit to me in my life. Thinking back on this, he must have either been in love with me, or just a really nice person always to everyone. And what did my dumb, 23-year-old self do? Eat the Tastykakes and never call him. Because he had a ponytail. Maybe the universe has been paying me back all these years for being a terrible person in this instance. Jesus, Tastykake guy probably tells stories about me in his blog about what it’s like to be the nicest man in Denver. He probably refers to me as Ice Cream Store Girl or something, but nothing mean, because he’s the nicest person ever. And I blew it. Ponytails aren’t forever, but love is.

So let that be a warning to you young babies from an old woman… Don’t sleep on chivalry, if it still exists these days. And go get some Tastykakes.

Just for the fellas: A treatise on penis photography

Hello, everyone. I hope you have all been enjoying your holiday season. And of course, no holiday is complete without some reference to dick pics… Right? Surely that’s a thing in this day and age.

Anyway, I have recently been hearing a lot about the strange phenomenon of the North American male dick pic. Men seem really into sending ladies pictures of their penises. And no offense, guys, but women don’t really want to see that. Penises are not beautiful and we are not really that into looking at them. At best, you see a dick pic and think, yup, there’s a dick. At worst, it is burned into your eyes forever.

For example, a friend of mine once got an unsolicited dick pic (is there any other kind? more on that later…) that was super weird-looking, like, it had weird coloring, probably due to some medical issue… but anyway, she got it and thought it was so hilarious that she saved it on her phone and showed it to a bunch of us at a party. And it was one of those ones that gets burned into your eyes forever. In retrospect, I’m not sure why I looked at it. Maybe dick pics are also reminiscent of car crashes. You know you don’t really want to see it, but you can’t seem to help yourself from looking anyway. But, the point is, dudes, this is what will happen when you send women dick pics without their consent; random girls and guys you don’t know will laugh at your dick at parties, or over happy hour. My friend (the recipient of the multicolored dick) was even saying she wanted to make a website dedicated to making fun of unsolicited dick pics. There probably already is one, but a) I don’t actually want to see that shit and b) I am using my parents’ computer and don’t really want that in their search history. Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad!

But I digress. The point is, don’t send random girls you haven’t met pictures of your wiener! I have also received a few of these beauties myself, many via Okcupid’s chat system. Thanks for that, nerds of Okcupid who invented that feature, a word of warning that you can send pictures over that thing would have been nice. Actually, the people who programmed the Ockupid chat function to enable photo-sending are probably guys, and probably thought about their fellow surprise dick-picking brethren when they made that more than they thought about the women who would log on to a multitude of windows popping up with dicks and messages starting with “sup?” And that is why I’m not on that site anymore. I ditched that one long before my latest pizza break.

So, again, where was I? Yes, my central thesis about when to send dick pics. There are two times when this seems to be advisable.

Acceptable Dick Pic Scenario 1:

I have heard that women do exist who will request dick pics from their partner when they are in a relationship. Something along the lines of, “Honey, I’m out of town for work and I miss you! Most specifically, I miss your penis! Will you send me a picture of Pookie so I can see that he misses me, too?” In this case, I would guess that said penis probably also has a nickname (maybe not Pookie). If it was me, I would probably just want to talk on the phone or attempt to have phone sex or sexy time Skype. But, to each their own. In conclusion, if asked, by all means give your ladyfriend the photos she desires! Then you won’t be having strangers laugh at your manhood until after you break up (or until you run for office)!

Acceptable Dick Pic Scenario 2:

You are gay and sending your member picture to another dude. Again, still recommended that you ask first, but my very informal and skewed-sample study of gay men who are also friends with me leads me to believe that in many cases, this is acceptable. Especially if you meet on Grindr.

If you do not find yourself in either of these situations, it is best to refrain from dick-picking. And by all means, do not use a photo of your dick as a get-to-know you icebreaker! If I don’t know you, there is no way that is the first part of you that I want to meet. That’s the equivalent of a dude in a trenchcoat whipping it out and then running away in the sketchy stairs of the library of my college campus. Believe it or not, this was an issue when I was in school at a certain liberal arts college in the South that will remain anonymous to protect the “indecent exposure guy.” That’s literally what they called him in the school newspaper.

I know, it’s tempting. I know that you think somehow this will prompt your victim to send you back some boob shots or full nudes. I know of exactly zero instances in which that has happened. I get the feeling that you don’t mind this, men of the early-weiner-shot-sending persuasion, having your dicks running around the internet everywhere. You are either just playing the (very low) odds that someone will respond favorably or like the feeling of showing off your mini-me that you are obviously very proud of, to innocent bystanders.

So lastly, if you are not willing to heed my advice and insist on sending wiener photos to women you don’t know well, at least follow these tips to make it less likely that your penis will be the running joke of her next girls’ night out.

1) Refrain from using objects for scale.  Your dick next to a pencil, cucumber, other phallic piece of produce, etc. does not lead us to marvel at it’s size, it just makes us laugh at you.

2) Don’t have outfits, piercings, tattoos, or drawings on or near your penis. And don’t wear underwear. A dick pic while wearing underwear isn’t even a dick pic, it’s just dumb. Also, Anthony Weiner, much?

3) Don’t include any text in conjunction with your picture. Also, no emoticons. I once knew someone who got a poorly-lit dick pic with the caption “U want this” …she most definitely did not. Relatedly, although the “moments” feature on Tinder (one of the dumbest features on Tinder, in my opinion, it’s basically a snapchat of a picture that immediately disappears, but all of your matches can see it) invites you to add text to any photo you put on there, do not take this as license to add text to your latest dick selfie. Also, don’t use the moments feature on Tinder to give your Tinder matches moments of your dick in the first place!

Which brings me to my last tip….

4) Put your best dick forward. Pay attention to lighting. Most dicks look best in soft, indirect light, but not with weird shadows… Never involve a mirror. Pay attention to your environment, as in, keep your pile of laundry, pit bull, stack of video games, Ninja Turtle sheets, etc. out of the photo.

The last thing that all of this makes me think of is one of my holiday favorites. Giving someone a dick in a box is pretty much the same thing as sending them a dick pic. Which, as Justin Timberlake can attest, makes a great gift for any occasion. To re-iterate my main point here, please note that the gentlemen in this video were presumably dating the recipients of their dicks in boxes.

Dick in a Box

I think that’s about all I’ve got for you today, dear readers. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Pizza Break

I am taking a pizza break. What is a pizza break, you ask? Allow me to explain.

Earlier this year, a friend recommended a book to me called “The Mastery of Love,” by Don Miguel Ruiz. You should read it if you want some knowledge bombs dropped on you about love and relationships. The main thing I learned from this book is to call dudes “pizzas.”

There is a great metaphor for love that Don Miguel Ruiz lays out in the book, which I will attempt to poorly summarize now. If you know me in real life, you can skip this part because I have surely already explained this in person. Seriously, I have probably told this shit to everyone I have talked to in the last 4 months or whenever I read this book because it is amazeballs and I am using it to explain all the problems in my love life! Clearly, after reading my blog, whether you know me or not, you have probably started to identify the problems in my love life yourself. But the point is, it was a great book and an useful metaphor and I don’t own any of it, so don’t sue me, Mr. Ruiz!

Ok, so the concept is this. Everyone in the world has their own magical kitchen (no, this does not mean a vagina or wiener, you pervs) and in their magical kitchen they can make any kind of food they want, and it is always the best, most delicious food and the kitchen never runs out of ingredients. They can eat the food they make themselves, give it to other people, etc. And that is like love. We can have all different kinds of love, love for ourselves, love for other people, and it never does run out. We always have capacity for love.

But in the world, lots of times people forget they have a magical kitchen and they don’t use it. They start going hungry and looking for food (love) somewhere else because they forgot how to make their own. Then, one day, a starving person answers the door and there is some dude or lady standing there with a pizza. “You can have this pizza every day for the rest of your life,” they say, “but you have to do what I say.” And that’s like a relationship. The hungry person figures that they better settle for this pizza because they are super hungry and can’t guarantee any other food will be available.

The actual point of this is that we all need to remember how to use our magical kitchens and love ourselves and each other but not rely on anyone to make us fulfilled and whole people. And then we can find a person we like to kick it with, but they don’t have to feed us because we know how to make our own food.

After reading this, I thought about the concepts for my life, blah blah blah, but, as I mentioned, the biggest way I have put this self-help book into action is by calling dudes pizzas. Because clearly that was the point of the book. Nonetheless, it’s a fun metaphor… You can have frozen pizza, gourmet pizza, hot-n-ready pizza, cheap pizza, meaty pizza, pizza by the slice, cheesy pizza, sausage pizza, drunk pizza, greasy pizza…. Once I was talking to a friend’s former pizza (he was still her pizza at the time, and we had explained this whole metaphor situation to him) and he said “we pizzas don’t choose to be covered with meat and cheese” or something profound about how my friend was treating him like a pizza when he wanted to be a magical kitchen (or magical kitchen owner, or whatever). “That’s deep,” I said. “I’m a deep dish pizza,” he replied. Best metaphor ever!

Also, because I like ridiculous videos, enjoy this video of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen singing a song about pizza in slow motion:

So, I am taking a pizza break. Or a manbbatical, as a good friend of mine who also used to have a dating blog until she found the love of her life and shit, calls it. She met him after her own manbbattical, so it will most definitely work for me too, obvi! I think I am going to try to bring back obvi… it was the only one of those late 90’s/early 2000’s word-shortenings that I really liked.

Anyway, I think I have been having too much pizza lately and not making enough stuff in my magical kitchen. Or I am just disillusioned and think it’s all bros and pizzas and douches… Either way, I realized recently that I have been attempting to find my soulmate like it’s a thing that just happens if you keep trying. And I have been on a mission to find him, by online dating, picking up dudes at bars, doing those speed dating things, Tindering, getting set up on dates, etc. with pretty much no break, for about 6 years. After all, my philosophy is, don’t stop trying, because trying hard is the way to make someone love you! Right, great plan. All of this has basically just led to a parade of dudes to be awkward around when I run into them around Denver (see previous post). Think of how much delicious food I could have been making if I wasn’t letting all these pizzas in my house!

I’m excited about my pizza break, just in time for the holidays. Some people think the holidays are depressing without a partner. I think it just eliminates the need to have to deal with someone else’s family in addition to your own.

One last note, dear readers: Don’t worry about a shortage of ridiculous stories due to my pizza break. I still have a surprising number of ridiculous stories I haven’t even started telling, some I even forgot about until just recently. I made a list so I would remember them. That seems sad that a list is necessary. I also realized recently that I don’t remember many of the dudes featured in this blog by their real names… Only by names I have given them such as Volleyball Tattoo Guy or Vegas Guy. That also seems sad that I have turned these people into caricatures because I am cynical or something… Hence the pizza break!

And if I find my soulmate, I’m sure hilarious things will still happen that I can write about. Although when I first meet him, I may not tell him about this blog. Because my dude friends have told me to not tell guys I date that I have a blog because then I will be like Taylor Swift and no one will go out with me because I will write a song/blog about them. Haters gonna hate hate hate…

Cougar Town

Denver is a small town. I see dudes I used to date out and about surprisingly frequently. Apparently, this happens to other people a lot, too. I was inspired to write this post because I was recently with a friend who ran into an ex that she hadn’t seen for several years at a bar in our neighborhood and I successfully helped her remain incognito. When I run into exes, depending on the breakup situation, I usually go for one of the following options. Option 1 – Leave whatever establishment I am in upon sighting the ex. While exiting, I try to hide my face/hide behind the person I’m with. I’m 6’2″ so this isn’t always possible. Option 2 – Look around the bar/concert/restaurant periodically to assess whether or not the ex sees me, but never look in his direction long enough to make eye contact. This one is usually a good strategy at concerts because there are so many people, how are they to know if I really see them or not! Clearly I am too cool and having too much fun to actually recognize or acknowledge them. You can also do this while in a restaurant by appearing super engaged in conversation with your dining companions whenever you think said ex might be looking at you. Option 3 – Engage with the ex if the circumstances are right. When are the circumstances right? For me, if I feel like I look particularly good that day, the circumstances are right. If I am on a date with someone who is the same hotness level or hotter than said ex, I will definitely talk to the ex. Briefly, of course, and introduce him to my equally-hot-as or hotter-than-him date. Option 4 – Cause a scene and get close to blows with an ex at my friend’s wedding because we are both drunk. Perhaps I will tell that story in a later post.

Anyway, I have seen this particular ex about three times since we stopped dating, if you can really call it dating. First of all, I met this dude at his place of employment, probably about 3 or 4 years ago, where he was a bartender. It was an upscale Denver sushi establishment that will remain nameless to protect the innocent. We were talking because my friends were about 15 minutes late to meet me, and he seemed nice and was cute, so I gave him my number. My friends were making fun of me by singing Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe,” in reference to this incident. So according to Wikipedia, this must have happened in 2011-2012 because that was when that song was a single. I didn’t think he was actually going to call me maybe because it took him about 2 weeks to text me.

But then he texted me, and we went on a date. It was an ok date, he seemed really into the fact that I could speak Spanish and liked Spanish music, particularly Ricardo Arjona, apparently Ricardo Arjona is his favorite singer ever. In my bro typology I outlined in previous posts, this bro was definitely a Mexicanbro. He was literally from Mexico and had only been living in the states since high school. Speaking of high school, for him high school was still a recent memory because he was 22. Ugh, I need to ask the age of dudes before I ask them out, I thought to myself. At the time I was about 28 or 29, so that might not seem like much of an age difference, but this is a dude we are talking about. So I figured that his age explained the fact that he would only communicate with my by text (remember, 2-3 years ago, people did sometimes still make phone calls, so only texting was actually a bit unusual).

Anyway, most of this story is sort of boring, this kid worked all the time and was going to school so he was always just trying to get me to come hang out with him at the bar at his work. So I spent time hanging out there and having him make me drinks, but the main funny thing that happened with him was this. I love karaoke, and the place he worked at had a karaoke night. So I decided to bring some friends and he told me he would be able to hang out with us for part of the time because his shift was ending before the bar closed. They even had a karaoke contest, so I brought my A game and so did my friends. I decided to sing a song in Spanish for him because he would like it, so I did my best rendition of Selena’s “Como la Flor.” If you don’t know this one, give it a listen and imagine a tall white girl singing it, channeling Selena with dramatic hand motions and facial expressions. That’s what was happening.

He decided to do his own dedication to me by singing Ricardo Arjona’s “Senora de las Cuatro Decadas.” Which roughly translates to “40-Year-Old Woman.” And it’s basically a song about Ricardo Arjona being in love with a 40-year-old cougar and how much he wants to have sex with her even though she looks old. It’s a really weird song that is vaguely offensive while trying to be complimentary. I actually just watched the video and I highly recommend it, it involves Ricardo Arjona breaking into an operating room to stop his cougar lover from getting plastic surgery and then taking her on a boat? It’s really old school and awesome:

And pretty much no one else in the joint knew Spanish, but the whole thing made me feel really weird, even though he claimed that he wasn’t trying to call me old, or proposition me for sex via karaoke (we hadn’t slept together at this point) but he just liked that song and thought I would like it too because I like Ricardo Arjona. So then I really felt like a cougar, and my friends, who were already skeptical about me dating this young baby, tried to act like they thought the whole thing was sweet and not weird or creepy.

Also, that night, there was plenty going on because the karaoke competition was intense between one of my friends, who is a trained classical vocalist, and some dude who was just a regular at the bar. Clearly politics were in play because they kept claiming it was a tie between this bro dude and my friend, when it was obvious that any impartial judge would have awarded my friend the $20 bar tab that was at stake. They eventually even did a dance off, which featured my friend doing the worm. Come on, if you are committed enough to do the worm on the floor of a bar, you are clearly in it to win it! But they eventually ruled it a tie and awarded the grand prize to both my friend and this other bro. Dumb, but at least my friend got a few free drinks out of the deal.

We hung out a few more times after that, but young baby Mexican dude was always really slow to communicate and hard to make plans with and it just got old after a while so I tried to call him to break up with him. But he wouldn’t ever answer actual phone calls so I left him a breakup voicemail, and followed it up with a text for good measure. He never was going to get to have sex with that 40-year-old (actually 29-year-old) cougar…

So after all that, a friend of mine decides to have birthday dinner at said sushi place where Ricardo Arjona fan dude worked. I go, because I am a good friend. Of course, he is there. I go for the strategy of saying hi and a few very brief pleasantries because it’s my friend’s birthday, so I look nice. Then I see him again, not once, but twice, at his new place of employment, another restaurant down the street from the place he used to work. Those times I went with the “avoid eye contact” strategy of ex-spotting techniques.

Have fun out there, people, and pay attention to my patented strategies to use when you run into an ex in our lovely town of Denver. Because you will.

That time when I saw the guy who hit on me on TV….

Hi all, it is apparently the one-year anniversary of my blog today! Hooray!

So, a quick story for you. I went to one of my favorite Denver music scene events this summer, the Underground Music Showcase or UMS. It is basically a magical time where all my favorite Denver bands and cool national acts that I generally haven’t heard of come play for 4 days and it’s awesome. It also makes me feel cool/hipster/something because I have been going to the UMS for at least 5 or 6 years and now it is this big thing but it used to be only two days and no one used to know about it and I knew about it before all the less cool people! You must understand that I am actually not a cool person so this type of credibility is big for me. Not really, actually no one probably cares.

Whatever, the point is, I was at the first day of my most favoritest summer activity and my friend and I are waiting to go into a show and this guy starts hitting on me. Yes, I do occasionally meet men in person like people did in the olden times. He seems nice and compliments me and talks to me like a normal person. He tells me that he lives in Baker, the neighborhood where the UMS takes place, and comes every year, etc. He tells me he has his own podcast classic rock radio show. He is also clearly at least 45, which isn’t necessarily bad, but is on the upper end of my age range. He tells me that he just got back from filming a commercial. He is trying to impress me, I guess. Whatever, we talk, I act vaguely interested, but honestly I am just sort of trying to have a fun weekend and enjoy awesome music and nothing much happens because I am not at the UMS to pick up 45-year-old dudes. My friends and I run into this guy several other times throughout the UMS weekend, and he always talks to me and flirts with me and “hollas” at me in the street, but never manages to get my number or anything else.

During the course of the festival, I also get recognized in the street by some girl who has seen me sing karaoke at SoBo 151 and run into various people I know so my friends start joking about how I am becoming “Denver famous.” Denver famous is a status which is basically a miniature version of real fame, sort of like internet famous but involving less actual volume of people knowing who you are. However, you can still get recognized on the street (in Denver only) if you are Denver famous. Examples of Denver famous people include: any member of the Grawlix, Jake Jabs, Blinky the Clown, Kathy Sabine, Hazel Miller, Matt Selby, any member of the Flobots, Nathaniel Rateliff, DJ Rockstar Aaron… Let’s be real, I’m not even on that level! However, I think this is funny, and am possibly a vain person (remember, not a cool kid in high school, so maybe that makes it ok?) so I tell this story to another dear friend of mine one night at the bar.

Literally right after I tell the tale of the UMS and the people recognizing me and the guy with the commercial and radio show and what have you, I see, on the very large TV screen at the bar, a close up shot of the face of the UMS 45-year-old who was hitting on me! I exclaim to my friend to look, that’s the guy! He was for real about being in a commercial! I was hoping to find a clip of that commercial (it was for Go Auto or Groove Auto or something like that, apparently both of those are real things) on youtube for your viewing pleasure, but I can’t find it anywhere on the interwebs. But I’m pretty sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Just think, if I had played it better, I could have been the trophy wife of a dude who is in one commercial! That would have really upped my level of Denver fame.

Come on, little guy!

Here is a nice recent story for you. It happened last week. To start, maybe I should tell you that of late, I have pretty much stopped trying very hard in dating. And the best way to date when you don’t want to try hard is the wonderful invention called Tinder. Tinder is like a weird game or that website they used to have called, but for sex/dating. Actually, I just looked it up and I guess they still have and it is actually trying to make itself like Tinder with an app and all, and even with their branding. Very interesting. Sad for them, they invented the concept of Tinder but are reaping none of the rewards.

Ok, so first a few interesting sociological notes regarding Tinder. Tinder is a very interesting sample of the dudes of the United States. I never knew how many dudes nationwide catch large fish on boats and consider those pictures to be the very best pictures to showcase in their Tinder profiles. There are a lot of them. Lots of fish. Sometimes I play a game with my friends who are also on TInder called “find the fish” and the first one to find a guy with a picture containing a fish he caught wins.

The other thing I have learned about the men of America from Tinder is that there are some regional Tinder trends. In Denver, mostly every Tinder guy has a picture of himself skiing. In Boston, the most common pictures are at Red Sox games and at the beach. In Chicago, there seem to be a lot of dudes who want to be/are DJ’s because there are surprising amounts of pictures of guys on turntables. But pictures with fish and pictures at someone’s wedding seem to be universally regarded as the most suitable pictures to show the ladies how awesome you are on Tinder. Note to the fellas, the fishing pictures, potential phallic imagery aside, do not actually impress the ladies.

The other thing that I have noticed on Tinder is that it is a place for guys to request immediate sex delivery (sort of like pizza delivery) from women. I often get a new Tinder match that asks me what I am doing RIGHT NOW because he is lonely and horny so I need to come have sex with him within the hour or he will die! What?!?! And then I tell him no, and he un-matches me and disappears into the Tinder pool again. Do women actually take guys up on this? Even if I am going to have a one night stand with a guy, I usually at least want to go have a drink with him first to a) try to assess whether or not he is a murderer and b) at least feel a little bit like I am having sex with a person and not just using a vibrator.

Ok, enough commentary about the wonderful world of Tinder, on to my story. I started talking to a guy on Tinder who actually requested that I meet up with him for a drink, rather than come have sex with him NOW, which was nice. We go have a drink on a weeknight, and he lightly alludes to the fact that he would like to take me home but that he’s ok if I don’t want to do that right then because he likes me and doesn’t want to jeopardize hanging out with me in the future. He likes hanging out with me! He has a job! He has normal social skills and we have things to talk about! It’s all great, really. He is also new to Denver (see previous reference in my entry about the United States of Bros on the benefits of new baby Denver bros), so that’s fun because he is so impressed with all the places I take him and is so excited about how great Denver is and wants to do all these fun things that he has never done before in this town! Hooray, Denver! So we hang out several times, and I decide to let him come over, “just to fool around,” he says. Fine, great, let’s do that.

We commence “watching TV” aka making out and getting partially undressed. It’s good, we have good chemistry, I am enjoying myself and it seems he is, too. We start undressing a little more and he starts, as one of my dear friends so eloquently calls it, “fingerbanging” me. So I decide to return the favor and see about a hand job for him. Here is where the trouble starts. There is nothing going on in his pants. It is the opposite of a pants party. I try really hard to get him hard (haha, I’m funny) but nothing is happening. I also continually resist the urge to say, “Come on, little guy!” which keeps popping into my head and I know is definitely the wrong thing to say in this situation. He keeps apologizing and telling me it’s not because he’s not turned on, he thinks it’s because he’s been working out a lot lately, or watching too much porn. I don’t know how much porn it takes to make you have weiner issues with real women, but I have heard that that’s a thing.

I keep telling him it’s ok and not to worry about it. I feel bad for the little guy (both of them, really), so I decide I will be extra nice and try to give him a blow job. It starts helping a little bit, and I feel a little encouraged but I have to take a break. I go back to trying to give him a handy, and very suddenly we have the opposite problem, namely, a lot of jizz in my hand. At least it wasn’t on my face. I awkwardly go wash my hands and by the time I get back into the room, he is dressed and ready to leave. He says he’s going to go, and that was embarrassing, and keeps apologizing. I genuinely don’t think it’s a big deal and do indeed like this dude as a person, not just a weiner, so I tell him that we should still go hiking the following weekend (this happened on a Wednesday, that’s probably why we had this problem, Wednesday is not an especially sexy day, despite being sometimes called Hump Day. I’ve never found it to be a particularly great day for humping). He says ok, let’s go hiking, I’ll call you later, etc. But, my male friends tell me this is the sort of thing there’s no coming back from. And he definitely didn’t come back. He did not respond to any of my attempts to contact him about going hiking and I saw that he was on Tinder at the very time I was texting him. Looking for the next girl to have weiner problems with. Good luck with that, my friend. Better take a break from your constant porn watching.